


wash in with the tide

by hrhowling



Series: (i'm well aware of) certain things that will destroy a man (like me) [3]
Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt, Hurt, Peter Benjamin Parker Needs a Hug, he's also very confused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 17:52:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18596401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrhowling/pseuds/hrhowling
Summary: After being torn through reality to a city that made no sense, Peter Benjamin Parker, aka the Spider-Man, does the last thing he ever wanted to do.See Aunt May.---Pre-cursor to'save your loving arms for a rainy day', set straight afterSPIDER-MAN HOSPITALISEDTitle from The Mountain Goats''Sax Rohmer#1'.





	wash in with the tide

**Author's Note:**

> So the idea behind this one was 'What if Noir was the first to arrive at Aunt May's?', and... it lead to this. I've read his comics, too, which has fuelled the pain.
> 
> Enjoy!

This was not his city.

He knew that much. There were too many people, the cars were the wrong shapes and far more of them were covered in blood than even he was used to. People, rushing past on their way to homes or work, stood staring at the flashing bright pictures up on the skyscrapers.

The  _ skyscrapers _ .

There were so many of them, reaching for the empty expanse of the sky, towering, looming, making him small. So bright, so clean, so much bigger than home. All these strange... paints, and shades, that he’d never witnessed before, burning his eyes even through the lenses of his goggles.

His stomach was doing flips, the tightness in his throat did not bode well. He rushed into the nearest alleyway to retch, huddling in the darkest corner to appease his eyes.

It took a lot to faze the Spider-Man these days…

But today was the worst he’d felt since… since Uncle Ben…

No. Stop. Don’t let it get in the way. Figure out what’s going on, that’s the priority.

On shaky legs, he crawled up the wall, higher and higher than home would usually allow, the brickwork a strange shade that resembled blood but... still, it  _ wasn’t _ . At the top, he looked out, squinting against the brightness and wrong, peculiar not-shades (more than light and shadow, he theorised, there was something else here. Something currently unknown to him).

He needed answers.

* * *

Spider-Man was all but dead, apparently.

But he was unmasked (as Peter Parker. How was that possible,  _ he  _ was Peter Parker... right?) , and well-loved in this strange, unnaturally bright city.

And Peter knew enough about human nature to know that the bereaved would  receive comfort.

So, he searched the city, keeping to the shadows, until he found a house in the suburbs with flowers, balloons, and blood-strange paraphernalia piled up outside the door like offerings.

Someone was there already, so he hid and watched, as a tired-looking woman who’s face he recognised with painful clarity asked the late-night visitor to leave.

They did, and he waited a little longer , until he was content that no more people would come, and fought his way out of the bush he’d jumped into. Harsh, stiff branches clawed at his coat and rustled in warning as he yanked it out of their grip.

_Knock_ _knock_ _knock_ _!_

“I’m sorry, but I’m not- … ”

Aunt May’s face was unreadable, but her eyes were no less piercing than Peter remembered.

“I, um-.”

**_ SMACK _ **

The shock of such a sudden blow sent him tumbling off the front step , and even through his mask, it  _ stung _ . No one ha d smacked him like that in years, and Peter  couldn’t help the chill in his chest when he looked up to see his Aunt  scowling down at him, the very thing he feared most.

“How _fucking_ dare you!” she spat. “Is this some sort of _joke_ to you?! My _nephew_ , my _boy_ is in the hospital, almost _dead_ , and you pull _this_?! Who the hell do you think you are?!”

“I-I -.”

“I don’t want to hear it! Get out of my sight, you bastard. Body’s not even cold, and  you sick fucks are  already prancing around trying to suck up some sort of attention. You have no respect!”

She was crying, ugly tears streaming down her anguished face, fists balled up at her sides. God, why was she crying, _what had he_ _done_?

“I said  _ go _ ,” she  choked . “And take that mask off. You’re not him, and you  _ never _ will be.”

Too shocked for words , he numbly got to his feet, only to trip over himself and crash into a  mailbox , denting it.  With shaky hands, he pulled off  his mask , giving her one last look .

“I’m sorry,” he whispered , and turned  to leave.

Until a hand grabbed his coat.

“Peter?”

The pain. The hope. No, no, he couldn’t do this to her. Pull away. Leave.

But she didn’t let go. Even after he’d tugged his coat out of her grip, she grabbed him again, this time on the shoulder.

“Peter.”

Stronger this time. The tone he recognised when his Aunt was about to start something and stubbornly see it through.

He didn’t move. Neither did she, for a deafeningly long while.

She broke the silence, “Come inside,” and gently guided him back to the door.

This house was nothing like the one he knew. Full of strange shades and warmth that had been absent from his existence for years. A glass-fronted square panel that looked vaguely familiar sat in front of the couch, which in itself was draped with a heavy knitted blanket; shaded like home, but still... off...

And the pictures...

There was one of a man with his face, hanging on the wall next to the stairs. But his hair was too  _ bright _ and his glasses were the wrong shape. There were no scars and he  looked so...  _ proud _ ...

Soft, bewildered,  “I look like him,” was all Peter could say, but he doubted the words the moment they were off his tongue. They felt... false. Unwarranted, too audacious to be spoken aloud, but he’d gone and done it.

“You have a lot of questions, don’t you?” Aunt May said, but  _ was _ she Aunt May? She wasn’t his, that was becoming clearer with each thing he saw. She had her own Peter, a better one that wasn’t broken. “ Come sit down. I’ll explain as best I can.”

Tearing his eyes away from the picture, Peter followed th e double of his family  to the couch. She was carrying a tray  of mugs and a pot of what  looked to be coffee ( i t looked… off,  just like everything else here , so he couldn’t be sure ) . Part of him wanted to offer to take it , it was courtesy and he was a guest here , he couldn’t let her burden herself.

But then… this was Aunt May, right? Not _his_ , that had been established already, but… if she was anything like the woman she knew, she’d brush him off with a comment about not being a feeble old lady, harrumph at him and stubbornly strut the rest of the way.

The couch was soft, with no springs digging into his back or legs as he lowered himself onto it. This lady must be rather well-off, to have a couch this comfortable. Ceramic clinked as she placed the tray on the coffee table and sat down next to him,  her face set with grim lines and eyes hard as steel.

“So,” she said, voice walled, but slowly crumbling, “from the beginning.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come and yell at me on Tumblr --> hrhowling.tumblr.com
> 
> Or on my Discord server, dedicated to art, writing and Spider-Verse! --> https://discord.gg/Z52WMS9


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